


Live By The Sword

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The older Ray gets, the more different he becomes from everyone else in territory fifteen. Eventually the Gods reject him completely, and it's only then that he finds a different explanation for his oddities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live By The Sword

When Ray is a child everything he does is like everyone else.

He grows his hair long and brushes it with a careful comb. He only ties it back before lying down, making sure no one is watching, just as he watches no one else. Each strand is grown in the likeness of the Gods, as they want. To restrain that is only permissible in bed, where one is supposed to bow in submission to the Gods. If you blind yourself to them by remaining proud they will never grant you with sleep-visions, merely useless dreams, or even worse a head full of nothingness. One does not look at others in bed, what is respectful to the Gods is not for others to see.

He learns how to love many while keeping the importance sense of separation between oneself and others. It’s important to trust others, but even more important to know that you alone control your own destiny. Each of his companions take on their own roles in the dorm, Jer weaving tales so the younger ones can get to sleep, Ank devising games of running and hiding to keep everyone from the slow crawl of boredom. Ray never lets himself forget that on the battlefield it will be his trinity that fights, but he enjoys the play with others.

Most importantly, he prays to strengthen his relationship with the Gods. Writing is one of the first things taught to children, because the relationship must start as soon possible. Ray can’t remember how old he was when he learned, no birthdays are important until your fourteenth. But he learned as he must, and when they trusted him to not slander himself or his territory they gave him his first Godsbook. From that moment every thought belonging to the Gods is scrawled down, and when he finishes his first Godsbook he is given a second. Sometimes answers come in sleep-visions, carefully transcribed in case the vision is important for not just one citizen but for the whole territory. Sometimes answers come in whispers to the back of his brain, subtle enough you can almost believe you thought it yourself, if it wasn’t too profound for a mere person to come up with. Sometimes Ray’s ideas and questions go unanswered. One can’t expect the Gods to let everyone know everything.

When Ray turns fourteen things begin to change.

At twelve you being to learn smithing, by fourteen you can only pray you have learned it well. The day you turn fourteen you create your own sword, following all the steps taught for countless generations; wrapping steel around iron, keeping it at the right colour of heat as you hammer the side, edges, and tang into the right shape, quenching then tempering the blade, grinding the final shape, sharpening the edges. Then and only then can you create your hilt and attach it. Sword built, the only thing left is for one of the Godspoken to begin the ritual that creates the holy trinity of man, sword, and Gods.

Ray knows how he’s supposed to feel. He is closer to the Gods than he has ever been before. He’s no longer in need of a Godsbook, he knows everything he will before he eventually joins them. That connection of the trinity is whole. For all he knows the sword’s connection to the Gods is whole as well.

What’s missing is Ray being connected to the sword. Everyone clings to theirs like they’re supposed to. Everyone’s sword only leaves it’s sheath when the newest full citizens are learning combat, and then it doesn’t leave their hand. Some women and men cannot bare to part with it even in their sleep, resting their sword on their pillow beside them or fastening a second sheath for their pyjamas. Ray knows better than to mention he doesn’t have the same compulsion. He feels like he could leave it on the ground while he went inside and it wouldn’t hurt him to walk away. He has no idea of the penalty that would be paid for informing a Godspoken the ritual didn’t work, so he says nothing.

He’s only been at the training camp for three weeks when it happens. Their newest citizen goes to spar for the first time and upon the other’s first strike the teen’s sword sheers. In their years of learning smithing Ray’s heard warning tales of what happens when a sword is nearly all steel, but never thought he’d see it happen. In moments the boy goes to the Gods, trinity broken and whisked away.

There is no funeral, it’s not like when Kai died from eating peanuts that made his throat swell closed. He’d had only a light connection to the Gods, the ritual needed to be done for them to recognise him and be able to receive him. Once you turn fourteen and are part of the holy trinity it’s no longer needed. It’s upon seeing Bex go to the Gods that Ray knows he best keep his sword close so that no damage comes to it, even if it doesn’t pain him to be separated. Shameful thought or not, Ray is not ready to be with the Gods.

When Ray is fifteen things change forever.

After three months of training every citizen joins the Gods Army. Every territory is in never-ending battle with every other territory. Ray knows the origin story by heart. All the brothers and sisters began to quarrel, disagreeing over something no citizen has ever been privileged with a sleep vision to understand. But the brothers and sisters knew it was too dangerous to fight for righteousness themselves, they could destroy the universe with a misplaced blow. So they created replicas of themselves to do battle for them, and set them upon the earth.

Only the elders are released from the Gods’ cry to battle. They are to tend fields and raise livestock, cook and clean and keep the territories in order. Many of the people Ray knows don’t wish to become elders. They pray they get to join the Gods from battle, not after long useless years of farming. Ray knows the likelihood of his eventually being an elder is low, turning thirty happens to one in five hundred. But he’s not one that prays against it, he thinks it might be nice to grow things. He’s not sure why rejoicing about a plowed field should be any less rewarding than rejoicing about enemies slain in battle.

Ray is fighting like any other day, only the shining sun distinguishing the day from the one before it, ground still soft from the rain. A blue tuniced man -they’re fighting territories two and seven today, blue indicates seven- attacks him. Ray raises his sword to defend and it shatters. The man raises his arms in victory, but stays to watch Ray’s receiving, as is proper.

Ray’s thought about what those last few seconds would feel like; if he’d have time to think of a lover that kisses him, or a friend telling a joke. The last few moments feel like nothing. It takes Ray a bit to realise the last few moments are stretching longer. At the thirty second mark his opponent starts to scream. Most don’t hear it in the din of battle, but a few do, and those that glance over see Ray’s broken hilt. It’s like a ripple from tossing a pebble into a pond, only not based on tearing the nature of reality apart. Each that sees stops fighting, and as the ring of people no long combating gets bigger it catches the eye of superiors.

Two come over, and though both are in the brown tunic of territory fifteen, Ray doesn’t recognise either of them. He’s not sure if that makes this easier or not. He’d love counsel from Lou or Bry, any advice they could give might slow the rapid beat of his heart, soothe the way his limbs are shaking. But if they escorted him without being able to tell him what’s happening he thinks he would be even more terrified. It would be worse still if they acted like these two are. Ray is walked away from the field, the tip of a sword at each shoulder blade. Both superiors are too scared or disgusted -Ray can’t tell- to touch him.

They instruct him to sit in a chair in the nearest medical hut. It’s empty, as it usually is. The point of battle is not to cripple or maim your opponent, it is to shatter their trinity. Ray tries to stop shaking. Appearing as a coward will do nothing to win him favour. Justice is swift in territory fifteen, a loped off head so the Gods will suffer in the afterlife with the punished party. Ray has no idea how his superiors will deal with this. How do you punish someone who’s crime is not dying? He doesn’t even know if he _can_ die.

“If you are not bound to the Gods you cannot stay here.”

“Where do I go?” He’s fifteen, surely he would have heard about a territory in which there are not swords.

“This is a spell someone long since received learned from the Gods. It will take you to a place where you can try again to become the trinity. As such, say it three times.” One passes him a piece of paper, careful to not touch Ray’s fingers. Ray takes it quickly, understanding. He doesn’t want to contaminate people any more than they want to be contaminated.

Ray looks at the paper and says the spell slowly three times. “Kres. Toe. Man. See.”

A man wearing a cloak with many different territories’ colours on it appears. Ray gasps, hand going to the sheath on his hip automatically before returning to his lap. He shouldn’t be surprised, if it’s a spell given by the Gods he must accept anything it happens to be. The superiors seem to hold the same opinion, they slowly drop their precisely extended arm to rest position. The momentary silence gives Ray the chance to look him over, and frankly he can’t help but wonder how the Gods think this man will help. While his clothes may reveal he’s an emissary to all territories, they certainly aren’t appropriate for any cross country travel they might have to do to get to a safer land. Nor does the man underneath them inspire much confidence. Ray knows he must be weak, his hair is shorn near to his scalp. He does have a strong voice though, masculine for his appearance. “What world is this? Do you know?”

Ray looks to his superiors. They remain silent, suspicion poorly hidden on their faces. If only he had a way to record it. Distrusting the requests of the Gods is blasphemy, though not as bad as Ray’s committed, however accidentally. Ray opens his mouth to explain that it’s territory fifteen, but what slips out is “are you one of the Gods?”

The man smiles, a not entirely reassuring look. “A world that believes in Gods. Doesn’t narrow it down much, really. Probably not Millie’s world though, I could never be mistaken for Asheth. What do you do here? Name special things.”

“We just battle every day. We battle so we can show our Gods were right.”

He’s not expecting the scowl that comes in response, or how distant it seems. Normally when Ray is battling if someone is committed to facial expressions -the warriors of territory three are taught intimidation that includes expressions, and territory nine uses skin paint- it’s direct and intense. Kres -if that is his name- seems vaguely frustrated by the entire room, and what lies beyond it. “That’s not special, everyone fights. Something else. Most important memory then.”

“Same as everyone else. Creating myself into the trinity of man, sword, and Gods. Only-” Ray blushes, ashamed, “it didn’t work. My sword broke and the Gods didn’t receive me.”

“Do you have your sword?”

Over a year of having it on him at all times, first for appearances sake and after Bex’s death out of fear of death -needless worry that turned out to be- has Ray’s hand automatically moving to his sheath. It’s only when he feels the empty leather that he remembers. “It’s on the field. I had to stop battling.”

Kres turns to one of the superiors. “Show me your sword.”

“But I-”

“It’s not so much a request as an order, I’m afraid.” The superior hands it over, though he can’t help but follow it, stepping closer as Kres draws it to himself. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen this before. So you, and then he.” Kres gets so vague he might as well pull a bag over his face. It lasts for minutes, and since Ray instinctively knows he will learn nothing from studying him he looks at the two superiors. Both look upset, the one against the wall obviously regretting being the once forced to deal with this, the swordless one not quite having the confidence to snatch it back. Ray wants to remind the man he’s an emissary of the Gods, and he has every right. It’s not as though it’s a random man or woman touching it, the punishment fittingly being having one’s own sword snapped. All at ones he stops pondering and says “I must insist you retrieve this bloke’s sword. Oh, Michael will have an absolute fit!”

*

“This is my castle. My wife and I live here, with many staff and a rotating number of children. I’m going to take you up to Michael’s workshop, Cat should be there too. The others should be sleeping, but perhaps not. Pete seems to have a knack for noticing when I get called away, and he’s always interested in why, no matter what time of day it is.”

“Are Mike and Kull magicians too?”

“Michael, and you’ll find that people take the semantics of magic very seriously here. Cat and I are enchanters, beyond that it’s best to ask the user what they consider themselves.”

“Mike-Kull is one person?”

Kres stares at him for a moment. “Yes? How is this not clear?”

Ray shrugs. “He’s got two names. Or at least it sounds like he does. Where I’m from everyone has one name, Jer or Beth or Drew or Hil.”

“One syllable names. Well, that should help narrow it down. But yes, here names can be of any length. No secret twins. Well, at least not usually.” Kres -except it’s probably actually krestoemansee like it was written out- laughs, but Ray doesn’t join in.

Michael’s workshop is like nothing Ray’s seen before. It’s all darkly coloured wooden tables and heavy books and jars of what probably aren’t spices. There’s even an animal skittering on one of the tables, like a lizard but not.

“Michael, this is Ray. He’ll be staying here for some time. His world, I’m not quite sure which Series, but that can wait as he won’t be going back. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but they’ve managed to strip half souls rather than full ones. Not only that, it seems the entire country has put theirs in a custom forged sword.”

The blond teenager seems cross as he says “well that’s stupid. Just like Gwendolyn. As soon the sword breaks they’re dead.”

“Yes, I believe that’s rather the point.”

“It’s going to the Gods. It’s not _stupid_ , it’s how life works.” Ray says hotly. “Only it didn’t. Work, that is.”

“Ray, that’s because you were born with more than one life. It happens more frequently than you would think. Each Series has nine worlds, and if for some reason you aren’t born in one world, you on another world will have two lives. Those like Cat and I have nine lives, until we waste them. You most certainly have at least two, if not more, we’ll need to test. You also probably have magic, although we’ll wait until tomorrow to test that.”

Magic and multiple lives. In the last half hour everything has gone mad. “Are you crazy?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s mental, all of it. Trying to tell us that our perfectly planned society isn’t proper. But I’d suggest listening to him. He knows his shit, Mr Chant. I’m Pete, what’s your name?” The words are from the most colourfully dressed teen Ray’s ever seen. He’s wearing at least thee layers and each article is a different colour. With him in the open doorway are an enormously tall boy and a boy with red rimmed glasses.

Before he has a chance to introduce himself the tall one speaks. “And if you do have magic you want to listen to him before it gets ridiculous. Trust me, I know. My family knew I had it since childhood, but they both blamed the other for it when they divorced, and neither thought it would be a good idea to tell me I had it.”

Glasses pipes up with “he fixes problems. I’m from series five, it’s where the mermaids rule. They decided they wanted me for a mating partner. They promised after ‘twenty short years’ I could stop. I don’t even like girls! The Chrestomanci saved me, everyone on my world has strict orders to bring me to the mermaids if they spot me. My family wouldn’t even let me hide in their house. So I’m staying here for a bit. When I find a world I want to try he’ll take me there. If your world is trying to kill you or get rid of your multiple lives or whatever, you should come read the World series with me in the library. We can find something together, and Pete too. Series twelve is pretty cool.”

“What about those two?” It probably shouldn’t be Ray’s first thought. He’s got a dozen things to think about, and no Godsbook to write any of it down in hopes of getting answered. But Glasses seems so optimistic that everything can be worked out that it gives him a little bit of room to care about others.

The tall one grins. “As soon as I can stop talking to animals I’m going home. Gonna bitch at my mom in Squirrel, gonna bitch at my dad in Cow, and then I’m going to tell all my friends how to curse in Horse. It’ll be awesome.”

“And I’m the next Chrestomanci. You all are training exercises, your problems mine to solve.” The blond rolls his eyes, and Ray has to wonder for a moment if someone who clearly doesn’t care should be the next superior.

“Lemme show you where the rooms are. They’re fancy as _shit_ man, really nice. I’ve got this one with striped walls, and they let me paint each white stripe a different colour.” Pete bounds forward to sling an arm around Ray’s neck, orange long sleeve under lime short sleeve under a red vest. Ray lets him pull him out of the workshop, Gabe and Glasses following behind. If he’s interpreting it right, it sounds like Pete means they each get their own room. Ray’s never slept in a room with less than fifty people in it. If it’s true, he want to see it. Figuring out how much of his past was a lie, and what he’s supposed to do for the future can wait.


End file.
